


A Little Lighter

by kiddie_po0ol



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Eating Disorders, Everything that happened in the anime is canon, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Only One Bed, Post-Canon, Running Away, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddie_po0ol/pseuds/kiddie_po0ol
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is developing both an eating disorder and a crush on his best friend, neither of which he's aware of.CW: obviously, this fic deals with EDs. Also Yuri is 15 and Otabek is 19, which is where the anime left off.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	1. A Good Day

His chest was burning, acid clawing up his throat, and with a heave he opened his mouth and let himself turn inside out into the porcelain basin below. His ribcage tore from his breastbone like a pair of bird’s wings and his chest ripped down to his gut until there was nothing but a dark open maw where his stomach used to be. As he spit the last of the bile from his mouth, he felt the collagen and cartilage and blood-water dribble out onto the tile beneath him, along with whatever he had left of his pride. 

When he was spent, spitting the last frothy saliva into the water, he depressed the flush handle and let the contents of his stomach swirl down the pipes. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom made spots against the backs of his eyes as he lay back onto the cool of the ceramic tiles, feeling hollowed out but a little lighter. 

“Great, Yuri!”

Yuri stood panting, bent at the waist with hands resting on his knees as he gulped heavy, wet breaths. He raised one hand to rub at the sweat on his forehead. 

Yakov didn’t hand out compliments easily, so the praise made Yuri’s heart lift a little in his chest. He straightened, and raised a hand in acknowledgement as if addressing a cheering audience.

Yakov gestured to beckon Yuri to the side of the rink, breaking him out of his momentary reverie. He made a leisurely arc across the ice to his coach, stopping just short of the rink barrier with a flourish of shaved ice from his skates. 

Yakov appraised Yuri. “That was a good run. Aside from your fall and the minor mistakes in your step sequence, it was quite good technically.”

“Thank you,” Yuri had been quite proud of doing so well, given that the routine was the most difficult he had ever attempted to perform. He was making good time nailing the elements, still several weeks out from the World Championships. 

“You should be focusing more on the spirit of the thing, however,” Yakov continued. “You seem distracted sometimes. Your heart is not always in the performance.”

Yuri nodded.

Yakov made a noncommittal gesture. “That’s alright. It often takes a while to really get at the core of the performance. I’m not worried about your progress.”

Yuri felt himself wrap around the praise, absorbing it, cherishing the words. Hearing _I’m not worried about your progress_ was like if Yakov had gotten on his knees before Yuri and professed him as the finest skater he had ever taught. 

“Take a break, and we’ll run it once more before you leave,” Yakov directed, and Yuri obliged, stepping off the ice and fitting his skate guards to the blades. He leaned against the barrier and took a long drag from his water bottle.

 _Maybe I am the best student he’s ever had,_ Yuri thought in spite of himself, but he immediately cringed at the narcissism in the words. A younger Yuri might have embraced that cockiness, back when he had been unrivaled in his age group. But his entrance into the world of the senior grand prix -while it _had_ come with a record breaking win- had introduced serious competition. So despite breaking Victor’s record at 15, Yuri wouldn’t ascribe “best ever” to himself anytime soon.

Just as Yuri’s thoughts turned to Victor, the door to his left swung open and the Russian skater himself strode into the rink, a bedraggled Yuuri in tow. Yuri tried his best to ignore the pair, but the effort was futile. 

“Yakov!” Victor greeted his coach, who looked characteristically grumpy. “Good morning!” 

Victor wasn’t competing in the Worlds- he hadn’t qualified due to his season off- but he was preparing to make his comeback in the Russian Nationals. Yuri remembered Victor literally getting down on his hands in knees begging Yakov to take him back as his student. _“This is how they apologize in Japan! Japanese Dogeza!"_ he had exclaimed to Yakov’s chagrin.

“Victor,” Yakov said simply. “Yuri is going to go through his program another time, so you’ll have to wait. Warm up in the meantime.” 

“Aw, he’s still going? You never stop, do you?” Victor smiled at Yurio, who glared back with animosity. Ignoring the sentiment of ill-will, Victor simply smiled jovially. “Well, that’s why you’re better than me, I suppose.”

“I just actually work hard,” Yuri said, “and show up on time.” 

Victor ignored him, and turned to Yakov. “Sorry we’re late. You know how Yuuri is.” 

“It is _not_ my fault we’re late, Victor!” Yuuri said from the side. “You are the one who’s always-”

“Anyways- Yurio!” Victor said over his partner’s accusations, “Are you going to be in our apartment when we get home today?”

Yuri liked to hang out in Victor and Yuuri’s apartment, especially when they weren’t there. He had been getting sick of the untouchable ornamental white and gold decor in Lilia’s home, and he had also been getting sick of living in the same space as Yakov and Lilia- hopefully that arrangement would only last until the end of the season. He had the key to Victor and Yuuri’s apartment and would often just go there after practice instead.

“Probably,” he said, and Victor nodded. 

“Alright. Please feed Makkachin! And feel free to stay for dinner!”

“Fine,” Yuri said, before slipping the skate guards off and stepping back onto the ice.

...

Victor’s apartment was what Yuri would call _classy_ , with a huge bay window in the living room that let warm sunlight flood into the room and into the attached kitchen. Yuri had been here often before, and he noticed that more and more of Yuuri’s touches were appearing around the home- decorative trinkets, Japanese-style furniture, an excess of jackets draped over chairs. Yuuri didn’t seem to be into hanging up his clothes. Victor didn’t seem to mind. 

Makkachin sniffed at Yuri under the table, a bundle of fur with a wet nose and hot breath. He slipped her a noodle of spaghetti, which the dog eagerly snapped up.

“You should teach dog some table manners,” Yuri said, working his fingers the poodle’s curly fur on the top of her head. 

Victor laughed. “She wouldn’t take kindly to that.”

Whenever Yuri stayed for dinner at Victor and Yuuri's, they always made him set the table. He complained about it, but he secretly liked getting ordered about by the pair. It kind of felt like having parents.

The table conversation wound from skating to weekend plans to future trips they wanted to take. Yuuri swooned about how he’d like to vacation in Paris, but Victor rolled his eyes at the suggestion.

“Paris is overcrowded, and a tourist trap at this point. If you want to see France, Yuuri, I’ll take you sometime, but we’re not waiting in a three hour line just to walk up the Eiffel tower.”

“I just want to go to the Louvre,” Yuuri said quietly, but Victor had already set into an impassioned speech about the French countryside. 

“Yurio,” Yuuri said, interrupting his fiance, “have you ever traveled anywhere special?”

Yuri shrugged. “Not outside skating competitions. I liked Barcelona, for the few days we were there.” He blushed at the memories of the Spanish city- and meeting his first real friend there.

As if reading his mind, Yuuri asked, “do you still talk to Otabek?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said, and slipped his phone out of his jeans pocket at the thought. No new notifications, of course- Otabek was probably busy. It was later there in Kazakhstan, almost 10:30 by now. 

“No phones at the table!” Victor chided, and Yuri rolled his eyes. Victor’s scolding was annoying, but the parental reprimand made a strangely warm feeling bloom in his chest. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Yuri, aren’t you going to eat more?” Yuuri asked, motioning to his plate.

“Oh,” Yuri said, looking down and noticing it was almost half full. “No, I’m not that hungry. I ate a lot right after practice.”

“Well, you can take it home if you’d like,” Victor said. “You know where the tupperware is.”

“Sure,” Yuri said, knowing he wouldn’t.

...

“Otabek!”

“Hey,” the Kazakh skater replied, his face coming into focus in miniature on Yuri’s phone screen. “Where are you?”

“On the tram,” Yuri said, raising the phone slightly so Otabek could see the interior of the tram car. He could hear the low, comforting rumble of the tracks over Otabek’s voice in his earbuds. “I’m on my way back from Victor’s.”

“It’s late. Isn’t it like 9 there?”

“I guess,” Yuri said. “I had dinner with them. But it’s later in Kazakhstan. Why are you still up?”

Otabek smiled, and Yuri’s heart floated to his throat at the expression. “It’s only midnight. I’m not a baby who goes to bed at 9.”

“Stop it, that was one time,” Yuri said. “I was tired from practice. And nine’s not even that early.”

Otabek shifted the camera, and from the motion it looked like he shrugged although Yuri couldn’t actually see his shoulders. “Do you have homework?” he asked.

“Technically, but I'm not gonna do it. Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” Otabek said, flopping onto his side and smushing his face into the pillow. From the angle, Yuri could just see on the wall behind him. It almost looked like...

“Do you...have a poster of me on your wall?”

Otabek sat up, grinning. “Oh! Do you like it?” He moved his phone so Yuri could see it: a poster of himself in his Grand Prix final short program outfit, arm outstretched towards the camera. His hair was whipped around his face and his expression was...intense. “I realized I didn’t have any photos of you, so I thought I’d just buy one. That’s the benefit of being friends with someone famous.”

“Um...thanks,” Yuri said, feeling his face grow hot. He brought his feet up onto the seat and sank down against the back. “It’s not my favorite photo of me, though.” 

“I think it’s cute. You look very focused.” Otabek said, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having on Yuri, who was curling in on himself. _Why is this so embarrassing?_

“Don’t call me cute, I hate it,” he lied, and Otabek smiled again. 

“You can buy a poster of me if you want,” he offered.

“We can just take photos together,” Yuri said, “you don’t have to buy merch of me.” 

“Alright. Next time we’re together.”

“Sure,” Yuri said, already looking forward to it. He glanced up. “My stop is soon. I should go.”

“Ok. We can always call later if I’m still up.”

“Alright.” Yuri smiled at the invitation. “Sorry we can’t call longer right now.”

“It’s ok. I’ll see you soon anyways,” Otabek noted.

“Right. Well, see you soon. 3 weeks?”

“3 weeks..”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Goodnight, Yuri.”

“Night.” Yuri tapped the screen to end the call, then hugged the phone to his chest. His stomach was oddly warm.


	2. A Worse Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has a less-good day than the last one. Does anyone else get super annoyed and then suddenly realize it's just because they're hungry?

“Yuri, stop!”

Yuri skidded to a halt, sending a fan of shaved ice like snow into the air off his skates. He swallowed lungfuls of cool rink air.

“Do that sequence again. It was all off,” Yakov called from the sideline, making a circular reversing gesture with his hand. 

Yuri nodded, backing up to the position leading into the problem area. He imagined the music in his head, skating forward and into a spread eagle, spun and then leapt off into the combination jump: quad Salchow, triple toe loop- he popped the second jump, turning it to a single. 

“No, Yuri!” Yakov’s voice came again, and Yuri scraped to a halt again, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“From that part again,” Yakov called. Yuri obliged. Closing his eyes, he gained momentum, turned into the spread eagle, pushed off into the quad- 

Under-rotated, he landed poorly and lost the chance for the second jump in the combination. He could already hear Yakov-

“Yuri, why aren’t you getting it? This should be easy for you.”

“I dunno,” he said, twisting on the ice. He shook his head, frustration building in his temples. Skating forward into the spread eagle, spinning into the quad salchow. A full four rotations, and pushing for the toe loop- Yuri landed wrong and stepped out. His chest tightened, wincing before the chastisement even came.

“Sorry,” he called before Yakov had the chance to speak. “ I don’t know why I forgot how to jump all of a sudden.”

“Fine, Yuri, just try it again.” Yakov motioned to continue, and Yuri closed his eyes and found his place in the imaginary music again.

  
  


Laying on Victor’s couch was nice. The sunlight warmed his face. Makkachin lay heavy on his stomach, a welcome and soft weight. He gently pulled a single curl of poodle hair and watched it spring back into place as he released it. 

He hadn’t done well in practice today. He didn’t know how he could be on top of the world one day and flub everything the next. And they were only two weeks out from the Worlds- a touch of anxiety gnawed in his stomach at the prospect.

He palmed his phone, flicking through his messages. He found the conversation he was looking for and texted:

_ You wanna call? _

Lilia wanted him to practice ballet again tomorrow, and Yuri wondered if he’d forget how to do everything then, too. He let out a heavy sigh, accidentally disturbing Makkachin, who shifted her head on Yuri’s stomach. The phone buzzed in his hand.

_ Sorry, busy. _

Yuri felt his spirits sink even further. Great. He was probably doing college stuff. Yuri was painfully aware of the age gap between him and Otabek, the older of which had recently turned 19 and was now attending a local university in tandem to furthering his skating career. Yuri, still in highschool, wouldn’t even be 16 until March.

He played with Makkachin’s fur some more, running idle fingers through her curls and noticing that the dog had weirdly long, feathery eyelashes. He should be doing his homework right now- it was already overdue. Yuri had a hard time concentrating in school, something his teachers liked to scold him about. His grandpa had always told him it was fine- what 15-year-old actually liked school, anyways?

_ Grandpa. It’s been a while, I should call him.  _

Raising his phone again, he opened the contact and pressed the  _ call _ button. It rang twice before his grandpa picked up on the other end.

“Yuratchka!” his voice came through the tinny phone speaker. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just calling to say hi,” Yuri said, his chest swelling with warmth at the familiar voice. “How are you? How’s Moscow?”

“I’m alright. Moscow is the same as how you left it.” The sounds of traffic outside his grandpa’s apartment came quietly through the phone. “How is St Petersburg? Are Yakov and Lilia treating you alright? Do they feed you?”

“It’s good. They treat me fine,” Yuri assured him. He remembered how hesitant his grandfather had been about letting Yuri move his home rink to St Petersburg and live with his coach and ballet teacher in the new city, but the arrangement had clearly worked out. It wasn’t clear if he would continue living with them after this season ended, so his future was a bit up in the air. “I’m actually at Yuuri and Victor’s right now.”

“I see. Are they there with you?”

Yuri shook his head, despite the pointlessness of the gesture in a phone conversation. “No, they’re still at practice. Or out or something, I dunno. We practice at different times because Yakov wants to devote his attention to both of us separately.”

“I haven’t seen Victor in a while.”

“Yeah, he’s been busy. He was off in Japan and stuff, and now he has to work really hard to get back for next season.” Yuri said. Victor had been the first friend Yuri had made figure skating, and him and his grandpa were friendly.

“How is your practice going?” He asked, “There’s a month until the competition?”

“Three weeks,” Yuri said. It didn’t bother him when his grandpa didn’t remember things about his skating- Yuri knew he still cared, plus the guy was just old and was losing his memory. Yuuri had mentioned his family still knew very little about figure skating too, so he guessed having a professional athlete as a kid didn’t necessitate knowing anything about the sport.

“How is your skating coming along?” his grandpa asked again.

Yuri’s chest tightened. “I dunno. I was super bad in practice today.”

“Well, everyone has bad days,” his grandpa said, and Yuri rolled his eyes. 

“Not me.”

“Even you, Yuratchka,” his grandpa said. “You should do something nice to take your mind off it.”

“No, that’s not how it works grandpa,” said Yuri. “I can’t just chill out because I had a bad day, I have to work harder.”

“I just don’t want to see you burn yourself out” replied his grandpa, and Yuri rolled his eyes, grateful his grandpa couldn’t see the disrespectful gesture. 

“I won’t overwork myself, I promise. Hey, Potya misses you,” he added, changing the subject.

His grandpa chuckled on the other side of the phone. “I miss her too.” 

The conversation meandered into discussing more trivial things about each of their lives, until Yuri’s grandfather insisted he get off the phone and do his homework. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it,” Yuri relented. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Yuratchka.”

They exchanged farewells, and Yuri heard the line  _ click _ on the other side as his grandpa set his landline back in its cradle.

_ I don’t think I ever told him he was the focus behind my Agape performance. Telling him would be kind of embarrassing- we don’t really do mushy lovey stuff like that. He might appreciate hearing it though. _

Yuri was asleep on the couch when Victor and Yuuri got home. His homework was scattered across the floor, notebooks and papers forming a sort of ritualistic circle in front of the couch on which Yuri himself was napping. The previously warm glow of sun had cooled into a wan late afternoon light, lilac evening shadows beginning to creep across the wooden floor. The quiet voices of the homecoming pair roused Yuri from light sleep, and he seized the opportunity to eavesdrop. 

The door opened, and Yuri heard the jingle of Makkachin’s collar and scrabbling of her nails across the floor as she greeted her owners. Yuri thought he heard his name said as Victor and Yuuri crossed the foyer and into the living room speaking in muffled voices.

“Is he asleep?” he heard Yuuri ask in a warm tone. There was a beat, and then he sensed the shadow of a body leaning over him from behind the couch.

“Yes,” he heard Victor say, the shadow receding and his steps retreating towards the attached kitchen. 

“Should we wake him for dinner?”

“We can in a bit, if he doesn’t wake up on his own,” Victor replied. “Come sit. I want to work on your shoulder- you said it was stiff.”

Yuri heard Yuuri also turn towards the kitchen. “Uh, no thanks. You always go too hard.”

“I promise to be gentle this time,” Victor cooed, and he heard Yuuri huff in acquiescence. Chairs scraped on the floor, fabric and the rub of zippers shifted as somebody took their jacket off. The chair creaked softly as someone sat down.

“Relax,” Victor ordered, and there were more sounds of clothes shuffling and soft breathing. It was quiet for a bit.

“Ouch,” Yuuri said, breaking the silence. 

“Sorry,” Victor breathed. There was another stretch of quiet, and Yuri felt his breath softening as he almost drifted off to sleep again. 

“Ow!” Yuuri yelped again, and this time Yuri heard the squeak of the chair as Yuuri pulled away from his partner. The floor sighed softly as he got up. “That’s enough of that, I think.”

“No, Yuuri, I won’t do it hard again, I’m sorry.” Yuri heard two pairs of feet cross the kitchen as Victor presumably trailed after Yuuri. 

“You’ve lost your chance. That really hurt.”

“Come on, Kobuta-chan. I’m  _ sorry.” _

“Victor, give it up,” Yuuri said, but the tone of his voice betrayed a smile. 

“Yuuuuchan,” Victor whined, and Yuri was pretty sure he heard the older man actually  _ whimper,  _ which Yuri found revolting.

“I’m done with you.”

“No, please,” pleaded Victor. 

“Victor-” the footsteps stopped suddenly, the cabinets creaked. 

Victor whined again. “I’m so very, very sorry for hurting you. Please forgive me.”

Yuuri huffed. “Maybe.”

“Mm, I’ll make it up to you.” 

“I don’t see how you possibly could.” 

“You can…” The rest of the sentence descended into whispering, but Yuri caught the uptone at the end suggesting a question. A beat, before Yuuri responded in a similarly low tone. Yuri heard someone giggle.

_ Gross. Gross gross gross.  _ Yuri sat up quickly, covering his eyes.

“You guys are  _ disgusting _ ,” he called from the couch, glaring behind his hands. He heard the pair turn.

“Yurio, you’re awake!” Victor called cheerfully. “Why are your eyes closed?”

“I didn’t want to see anything gross.”

“Well, I promise it’s safe. You can open them.” 

Yuri peeked, and Victor seized the opportunity to grab his fiance by the waist and kiss him, adding a little dip. Yuri yelled and slapped his hands back over the face.

“Stop! Ah! Stop it!” he yelled, and heard Victor and Yuuri laughing. 

“Sorry, Yurio! You’re gonna have to deal with that if you come over to our apartment.” 

“Whatever,” Yuri mumbled, and stood up quickly from the couch with his eyes still closed. He opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly he couldn’t hear over the sudden rush of blood in his head. 

_ Oops. I’m going to pass out. _

He stumbled, opening his eyes, but his vision was ringed by black and static rang through his head as he tipped into sudden darkness. 

Hands were on him, and he opened his eyes from the ground. He blinked a few times to clear the residue of static in his vision. His head swam. Someone was urgently talking to him. 

“Did he hit his head?”

“No, I don’t think so. Yurio, hey, are you ok?” 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. Yuuri was crouched next to him, and Victor hovered in the background looking concerned and a little frightened. Makkachin tried to sniff Yuri’s face, but Yuuri shooed her away.

“I think you fainted. Did you stand up too fast?” Yuuri asked. He was too near to Yuri's face, and the younger boy cringed away from the overwhelming closeness. Seemingly sensing his discomfort, Yuuri brought his head back to let Yuri breathe.

“Yeah, I think I just stood too fast,” he murmured, sitting up with the help of Yuuri’s hand at his back. 

“Victor, why don’t you get him a glass of water,” Yuuri suggested, and the man scampered off to the kitchen. Yuuri turned back to Yuri. “Did you eat anything today? 

Yuri felt a warmth of gratitude for the Japanese skater. Yuri knew Victor cared deeply for him, but he always seemed a little detached and awkward around anything emotional or uncomfortable. Yuuri, on the other hand, just seemed to  _ get  _ things, like he had a more intuitive knowledge of feelings and boundaries. 

“Um...not since breakfast,” Yuri admitted, rubbing his face. “But really, I’m fine. Chill out.”

“Ok, ok,” Yuuri said, “it was just a little scary to see you drop like that. You want something to eat?”

“Um…” Victor returned, and Yuri accepted the glass of water pressed into his hands. “sure.”

“You didn’t eat anything after practice?” Victor questioned. “You’re usually starving afterwards. Our snacks disappear at like twice the normal rate.”

“I guess I forgot,” Yuri shrugged. “I was busy, I called my grandpa, and then I fell asleep doing homework- you’re kneeling on my notebook, by the way,” he noted, and Yuuri looked down to see his knee planted on the book. 

“Sorry,” he said, pulling it out from under him. “What were you working on?”

“Chem.” Yuri rose carefully, and sat down on the couch again, adjusting his legs beneath him. “Hey, you went to college, right? Are you smart?”

“Well-” Yuuri blushed. “I don’t know. Chemistry wasn’t really my strong suit, if you’re asking for help.” 

“Yuuri is  _ so  _ smart,” Victor interrupted, placing his hands on his fiance’s shoulders. “Smarter than me, even.”

Yuri smirked. “Well that’s not really-” 

“ _ Anyways _ , chem?” Yuuri said, flipping the notebook open. “Maybe I can- oh, well first of all, I can’t read this. It’s in Russian.”

“What do you need to read?” Yuri grabbed the notebook and set the water glass aside. “Chem is numbers.” He turned to the problem set he had copied into the notebook, and pushed it towards Yuuri. “Here, balance these equations.” 

“Um…I probably shouldn’t do it  _ for  _ you-”

Yuri rolled his eyes and pulled the notebook back. “Fine, whatever.”

Yuuri shook his head. “No, I can try to help you, I just should probably shouldn’t-”

“Forget it,” Yuri said, “It would probably be more work to explain it to you than it would be to just do it by myself.” He shoved the notebook in his backpack.

“Oh, ok,” Yuuri said, a note of hurt in his voice. “Let me know, though.”

“Sure, whatever.”  _ Why am I so irritated all of a sudden? I was fine like two seconds ago. _

“It’s almost 6,” Yuuri noted. “Do you want dinner?”

“No,” Yuri said, kneeling to collect the rest of his papers and things and shove them in his backpack. “I think I’m gonna go back to Lilia’s.”

Victor cocked his head. “You sure? I’ll make something you like.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Yuri, rising to sling his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Are you feeling well enough to get home?” Yuuri asked, still sitting on the floor, and the question made Yuri’s skin crawl.

“Jesus, I’m  _ fine,”  _ he snapped. “Can you maybe get off my fucking back?”  _ Stop it, stop being mean to him. Why am I so pissed off?  _ But the irrational anger made it hard to reign in his irritation with Yuuri’s doting. He stalked to the door and paused only to pull his high-tops on and sling his jacket over his shoulder. 

“Text us when you get home!” Victor called, but Yuri was already out the door. He was ashamed to say he slammed it.

  
  


The pain in his stomach caused something to click in his brain. 

_ Oh. I was so irritated because I’m  _ _ hungry. _

That would explain the sudden mood swing. Yuri knew when he didn’t eat he got easily pissed off. He still felt bad about being so mean to Yuuri, but the guy would recover. It wasn’t like he had never been rude to him before.

Yuri opened the door to Lilia’s home quietly, shutting it gingerly behind himself. He would like to avoid the woman if possible. 

He slipped his shoes and jacket off and let his bookbag slump against the wall of the entry hall. On his way to the kitchen, he saw the light on under the door to Lilia’s study and heard the muffled voices of Lilia and Yakov in conversation. 

In the kitchen, Yuri opened the fridge and stared into the white light. The cool air washed around him as he stood silently, trying to decide if he should eat something. _I didn’t eat lunch, so I guess I can eat whatever for dinner calories-wise._ Lately he had started subconsciously minding what he ate, which he supposed was a good thing for an athlete. He really was pretty hungry, the feeling of his stomach muscles contracting was uncomfortable. 

Despite Yuri’s insistence that you didn’t have to keep apples in the fridge, Lilia stored the fruit in there anyways. He grabbed one and bit into it, the crisp cold hurting his teeth. The skin was taut and the apple was a soft, grainy white that got stuck between his teeth. 

Pushing the fridge door shut with his back, Yuri pulled out his phone and texted Otabek. 

_ Are you up? _

He probably wasn’t. Yuri felt a little embarrassed to be texting him all the time, but he really couldn’t help it. And it wasn’t really like he had anyone else remotely his age to talk to. Generally, he tried to limit his texting to the amount he thought a normal person who had other friends would text, but he had no frame of reference. 

_ I wish I was closer to him. How do you do that? I have no idea how to be a good friend.  _

Yuri sighed, and rubbed his temples. He was just making himself anxious. This day had been kinda crap, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Hopefully Otabek would text him in the morning.


End file.
